Getting out of bed
by im-a-nation
Summary: America goes to visit the Canada, tick tok... "Time to get up Canada..." Amercan fluff :3
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own Hetalia and all rights to original owner. I hope you enjoy it~ all feedback appreciated. I posted 10 ways to get Canada out of bed before but it wasn't considered a 'story' so I used that plot to create this one. _

_~im-a-nation_

'Getting out of bed'

I dragged myself up the steep steps to a certain Canadian's house. I knocked impatiently on the pale baby yellow door with a trail of autumn maples leaves dancing around my cerulean sneakers. I gently pressed down on a couple, creating a fresh delightful sound. I knocked a few more times. I could hear faint familiar voice, depicting a strong French accent embed in his speech.

'Coming, mon cherie'

I rolled my eyes; it's the 'king' of desserts, France. Who, did I mention is crashing at Canada's house considering he and England got into a rather loud argument, ending like always. I had retreat to my room; insert my earphones and blast Rihanna on maximum volume to block out the rather loud noises coming from the occupied couch … Despite the fact England still kicked his ass out. The door finally creaked open revealing only a glimpse of light coming from the Canadian's room. I thanked the Frenchman for opening the door and headed to the Canadian's room while the Frenchman returned to the kitchen to finish piping the whipped cream, as evident on his hand, was a smear of the fluffy cream.

I walked across the polished floor, sunshine radiating from a hidden small window above the bed. The Canadian was sleeping peacefully, pancake printed covers up to the nose and his curl still in that peculiar shape. I spun around the take a look at the silver rimmed analogue clock that was hanging nimbly on a nail. The time was 10:30 AM, time to wake Canada. Mission Impossible, Canada is a very light sleeper, he probably already knows I'm here but the problem is getting him OUT of bed…

I sat down on the side of the extremely large bed. I brought my finger up the Canadian's soft cheek and started to prod him repetitively. He mumbled, flicked my finger away and warily opened one violet eye.

'What you doing here so early?' he mumbled softly.

'Take a look at the clock bro, it is already 10:30. Get up!' I urged.

He closed his eye again, shrugged off my request and turned to the other side of the comfy bed hauling his large covers with him.

'Canada, Canada, and Canada' I chanted repetitively. He moved slightly to grasp the white pillow and smothered it over his ears to block out my constant loud chanting of his name. Small waves formed on his covers every time he moved. I soon gave up after twenty chants, and moved on to my next step. Attempt to drag the Canadian off his desirable bed. I wrapped my arms around the Canadian's thin legs, felt a jolt of surprise from the Canadian and received a well-earned

'WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?'

'Trying to get you out of bed, of course' I shot back accompanied by a smirk.

'No!' He screamed, as I started to haul the smaller nation off the bed. The Canadian clung onto the edge of the abused bed, making it more difficult for me to drag him off. I heaved once more and strained but surprisingly the Canadian's has a source of hidden strength.

'Get off the bed!' I yelled through gritted teeth.

'Never!' replied the Canadian still clutching to the poor bed.

I was running low on stamina but I refused to be beaten by my brother. I let go abruptly flinging the Canadian back onto his cherished bed. I sat myself down once more and began to ponder. The Canadian curled into a small ball in the corner of the bed. A light bulb went off in my head.

'I'll be back in a second' I said, a sly smile plastered on my face.

Canada looked at me strangely and narrowed his violet eyes.

'I'm not getting up, no matter what you do' he said, determined.

I walked briskly to the kitchen where I found France sitting comfortably in his lime green rocking chair an adult book propped in his left hand. Surrounded by, an odd citrus scent.

'Where do you keep the maple syrup?' I asked briefly.

'Euh…In dzee cupboard, first drawer' he replied pointing at small faded pink cupboard located next to the fridge. I walked over to it, yanked out the first drawer and found unopened bottle of Camp's maple syrup. I grinned in satisfaction and started to head back to Canada's room.

'Honhonhon, Alfred, what are you going to do with dzat maple syrup? He questioned with a perverted gaze.

'What are you thinking France?! Nothing sexual, what's with you and sex?' I said, annoyed but a tint of pink still crawling across my cheeks. I hurried myself back down the hallway into the comfortable space in Canada's room. I tip toed in, placed my secret weapon on his apple green desk next to a handmade ceramic vase, hidden from Canada's prying eyes.

'Geez, what took you so long?' the Canadian questioned, puzzled. Making me jump a little.

'Well, your dad asked me a couple of things…'

'What were they?' He asked.

'Nothing much' I answered. 'Are you going to get out of bed or should I make you my way?'

'I'd like to see you try.' The Canadian challenged. I narrowed my eyes and whispered.

'Bring it on.'

I reached for the weapon cloaked in the pot's shadows and held it in triumph. The Canadian expressed a puzzled look.

'Yes, if you don't get up, you'll find your beloved syrup in your beloved hair.' I threatened.

'No! Not my syrup and my hair!' He yelled in despair.

'Haha, your choice' I chuckled.

'No!' he replied and looked at me with pleading eyes. I shook my head stubbornly and refused to give into this outrageous act. I bent down to meet his lilac eyes, our noses just touching, his pink dusted cheeks flaring. I pressed my lips against his soft ones, my hands quietly but hastily opened the bottle of syrup and sneakily poured it over his silky dark blonde hair. I pulled away to reveal devious smile. Aghast, the Canadian sat cross legged on the syrup soaked bed. A dangerous glare was aimed at me. Anxiously, I blew him a kiss trying to prove my 'innocence' and said, quite scared

'Do you want to get up now?'

The Canadian gave a hard glare and pouted

'NO.'

'You are a monster…' he hissed under his breath

_Well that's chapter one, I hope you liked it, I'll post more when I have the time, thanks for reading!  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Hetalia, all rights to original owners. **

**Here's chapter two, hope you enjoy it. Reviews and feedback appreciated. Enjoy! :3 Also apologies for possible OCC :L **

**~im-a-nation**

I felt the corners of my mouth turn upwards as if puppets were pulling invisible strings attached to my mouth. I reached for my vividly ruby red and white banded American flag cased Iphone, fifty stars sailing the cobalt sea. With four quick swipes and a _click_ that rang clear but now only a mere echo in back of your head, I entered the passcode and went straight for my blue toned icon with a contaminated black horizon. I ran my thumb down the scratched surface of my phone; it was almost as if a minuscule magical being had sliced the phone's surface as a tool for sharpening its sword, the hardly noticeable thin cracks felt like sharp and ragged fractures against my thumb as I searched the list for a precise song that was bound to push the Canadian's buttons. I flashed a grin and tapped the brightly lit screen.

An intrinsic voice, masked with a strong American accent flowed through my cobalt device.

"Hey you guys! Are you ready to go to the Hamburger Street?" the voice questioned laced with excitement, dragging the last note for a few extended seconds.

The golden crystalline syrup coated Canadian, sitting upright, groaned in irritation to the American's distasteful choice of music. Knowing the American's goal was to clearly get him out of bed, switching from his sitting position; he flopped back down onto his bed, smearing the viscous substance across his clean bed. Identical to how a drowsy person would smear butter on toast at six o'clock at the break of dawn. He heaved his pancake printed covers over his head despite that he looked like someone had plunged him into a syrup lagoon. One arm snaked its way out and fumbled blindly for his pair of lavender pillows, delicate vanilla ruffles on each side. Once he laid his fingers on his endeared pillows, he brought them to his ears and _BAM_ new earmuffs. Although they were double his head in size, he was just grateful he could prevent the bothersome voice from seeping into his ears, the same voice embed with the familiar accent he'd hear over the phone every day; for whatever reason, happy or sad, the American would dial the Canadian's number quicker than a flash of lightening.

"Will you get up Matthew? Or will I still have to go to the extreme measures" I wore a half smile and teased.

A muffled reply emitted from the scented dome that devoured his brother.

"No, you can't make me!"

"Matthew, you're caped in glistening syrup, may I say that your bed now also wearing veil of syrup. "Give it up! Get out of bed!" I urged, hoping he wouldn't detect any signs of a desperate plead; which was crawling up my throat, against the all struggles to supress it.

"I refuse to be outdone by a burger brain!"

My hand flew to cover my mouth as I gasped in horror.

"Who are you calling burger brain, moose head?!"

"What?!" shrieked the Canadian inside his enclosed mountain. _That's it. _I thought.

I climbed onto the bed and latched myself to the twisted abundant dome. The covers were soft to my touch and slightly moist. A desperate yelp flowed through the thick and soon to be damp covers. The "mountain" came to life, a blur of colour; squirming, kicking and blindly smacking whatever he could feel on the "outside" world. I started to crawl back off the bed, bringing the writhing Canadian with me. It was much harder than I'd expect it to be. The squirming resulted in me losing my balance, falling back a couple of times. I was forced to unwillingly release the grateful Canadian who without any delay, scampered back to the corner of the bed, covers consuming him once more. Ensuing with me going back to fetch the aggravated Canadian, a few dark blonde strands fixed on one side of his _gorgeous _face, the remaining locks frolicked freely as he spun around to shoot some more menacing glares._ 'Those ravishing dark blonde locks that framed his angelic face, contrasting with those enticing violet eyes that fluttered every time he shot an ominous stare.' _I shook my head, disrupting my thoughts and continued my "work".

I was heading towards the Canadian again, but stopped unexpectedly. _What was I thinking? I forgot the most powerful weapon. Though it was extremely risky… I hesitated for a few seconds. I didn't think this was going to end well but I needed to get Canada off his bed. Matthew never eats! _

"Hey Matthew, do you feel like barbequed Kumajiro?" I said, shooting him my best smirk, hoping he couldn't see the butterflies-no elephants knocking down my insides.

His quavering violet eyes, ignited.

"What did you say about my Kumajiro?" he hissed through clenched teeth. I stiffened. The Canadian's unstable eyes quivered whilst shooting daggers at me, equivalent to those of a boa looking at its vulnerable prey before constricting it. I cringed under the gaze. I hurried off the bed and backed against ivory chipped wall; the Canadian taking his time but gradually got off the bed and begun to approach me. I stood my ground and cracked a smile. _I knew how to deal with this. _

"I wouldn't be grinning if I were you" threatened the Canadian. He kept his distance though. We stood, allowing us both to submerge into silence. Our eyes, flickering but locked, it was a battle of pride. _Why am I bothering, Canada is out of bed. I won. _My vision of victory was shattered by an ear splitting shrill and a tornado whirling towards me. I took my stance and crouched down whilst Matthew lunged at me. A startled look overcome the Canadian as he ran into my arms, well his legs at least. I grinned at my advantage.

"No, no, no, no, no!" the now defenceless Canadian protested knowing what was going to happen next, causing my grin to split wider.

"Haha, not so intimidating now, are we?" I mocked.

My legs straining, I had to pick myself and Matthew up, Matthew lying comfortably on my shoulder despite the constant complaining, hitting and protesting. I wobbled, unstable like a tall piles of books, dreading what would happen if I toppled over, I'd hit the floorboards along with my ego, pride and all. The Canadian would make sure I'd never forget it.

"You're so weak! You can't even carry your brother! Haha, you call yourself a hero?"

I shook my head, demanding that the visions dissolve. I staggered under the weight of me and Matthew, though he barely weights anything, for a bit but finally retrieving my balance as I stood tall to take in the overwhelming smell of victory.

"Put me down right now!" The Canadian insisted, his fists thumping against my beryl blue hoodie creating rhythmic soft _thumps._ I started to make my way towards the old paint peeling beige door, some parts without paint revealed a sliver of clean untouched wood. I turned the stubborn knob, releasing small creaking sounds with every turn. I turned and walked briskly down the dim hallway to the backyard intersecting with the kitchen, a struggling cursing Canadian on my shoulder.

I entered the kitchen, France still in the same position; he peered over the top of his book with curiosity. He gaped at the sight of me carrying a thinly glazed Matthew.

"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING MY SON?!" roared the Frenchman, slamming his book on the gleaming glass table nearby, his dazzling prized china teacup teetered, alarming the Frenchman quite a bit.

I shot him the most stunning smile I could manage and pushed open the meshed door to the backyard leaving the astonished Frenchman inside. _The sun kissing the smaller nation's dark blonde waves turning the locks at the top of his head, three shades lighter and a faint maple syrup smell cascaded over me… _

_The end_

**Haha, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it, reviews appreciated.**


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